


Unexpected Gifts

by The_Cimmerians



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 17:29:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3818866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Cimmerians/pseuds/The_Cimmerians
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early Klaine smut. Surprises all around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected Gifts

The pamphlets were quite clear on the matter: not everybody does everything. That was vital and necessary information. When it came to sex, he was not to feel pressured or urgent or impatient to cross some imaginary boundary, but rather to carefully and conscientiously figure out what worked for him, for Blaine, for both of them together—and if that meant staying in his own clearly-defined ‘safe zone’, well—that was just fine. Absolutely peachy. The pamphlets said so.

The safe zone was exciting enough as it was—the first time he’d taken Blaine’s warm, jerking, silken-skinned cock in his own bare hand it had been like something inside his brain exploded, his eyes almost rolled up in his head with the pleasure and power of it, his heart pounded and his mouth landed on Blaine’s with an inelegant crush that captured Blaine’s groan and the whole thing lasted maybe fifteen mindblowing seconds before Blaine bucked under him and came all over both of them—entirely within Kurt’s safe zone, and absolutely incredible.

The safe zone included handjobs, frottage, and eventually, blowjobs—he hadn’t been sure about that at first, but his curiosity eventually got the better of his anxiety, and after talking his way around the edges of the topic for an entire torturous week where Blaine kept not getting it and not getting it and really not getting it until Kurt finally wound up yelling a sentence in the hallway outside his calculus class that included the words ‘mouth’ and ‘penis’, and then both of them turned purple and grabbed hands and scurried away from where Santana and Quinn were laughing themselves into an aneurysm—after that torturous hurdle, it seemed a shame to not at least try.

So there were cautious, exploratory experiments, soft baby-kitten-licks all he could manage at first, tiny licks that made Blaine tremble and curl his hands into fists and press his lips together hard over whimpers he couldn’t entirely suppress, Blaine very patient and very locked-down until Kurt recklessly, awkwardly took the head of Blaine’s cock into his mouth and sucked and then pulled back and asked if that was okay which was when Blaine lost it and came in his eye—but that was just the first time, and after that it did get better. So much better.

Blaine wasn’t anywhere near as cautious, when it was his turn—Blaine, in fact, sucked him like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it, and both of them got a little lost and a little out of control and Kurt very nearly kicked out the back window of Blaine’s car—so; an activity on the ragged edge of the safe zone, perhaps, but after the first time, Kurt wasn’t about to give up the blistering pleasure of Blaine’s mouth on him for anything.

Blowjobs were good because they were fast, and clandestine within the confines of a vehicle, and didn’t require much clean-up afterwards. He got good at it, Blaine got good at it, from the first sweet-slow kiss to both of them undone and sweaty and sated in just a matter of minutes, and everything was just going along swimmingly until Blaine turned to him after, gasping, licking his lips and swallowing, the bob of his adam’s apple visible even in the dim light from a distant streetlamp. “I wish… God, Kurt—I wish I could take my time with that.”

Blaine looked embarrassed, like maybe he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, and Kurt wasn’t sure what to say with his own face burning and his tongue feeling treacherously swollen in his mouth, so he didn’t say anything, just squeezed Blaine’s hand instead.

Only of course it stayed with him, Blaine’s words echoing softly and plaintively in his ears at unexpected moments, making him flush and shiver down to his core. One breathy phrase that haunted him like a slippery, sensual ghost for weeks until a night when Finn stayed over at Mike’s, and dad took Carole out to dinner and then a movie she’d wanted to see, and Kurt had Blaine over and they made dinner together and it was very much like playing grown-up right until Blaine pressed him gently but urgently down into the softness of his bed, and then he suddenly felt very much like a kid—a desperately horny kid, but still.

“You want… you want, um, you still want…?” Coherence had abandoned him, but it didn’t really matter because Blaine didn’t seem to be able to talk either.

“Please—yes—Kurt…” Blaine was all hot hands and deep, hungry kisses and something that seemed to be thrumming under his skin, like he was vibrating on a frequency that was just out of Kurt’s perceptible range. It was irresistible and overwhelming, it was so easy to give Blaine anything and everything and before he knew it he was naked (they never had the time or space to be naked), glowing like soft fire slipped between cool cotton sheets, with Blaine’s moaning mouth fastened to his cock, nestled tight to the root of him. It was absolutely nothing like a backseat blowjob—it was messy and wet and torturously slow, an undoing, a tidal force lapping at the edges of his heart that he had no defense against.

Kurt kept both hands over his own face, his mouth—it let him keep his eyes closed when watching was too much, keep his mouth shut when it wanted to spill over, to babble, to gasp out the shock and depth of desire that Blaine brought out of him. He kept his face covered, but he couldn’t keep his thighs together once Blaine reached to cradle his balls—he could only muffle himself tighter while he spread and arched, giving himself over to Blaine’s hot hands and hotter mouth, soft and so needy, and Kurt tried to keep his hips still and completely, totally failed.

It was so wet, everything humid and slippery and lush, and there was one momentary confluence when Kurt’s muscles locked into a slow writhe and Blaine groaned and cupped him more tightly—and Blaine’s fingers slid down—back—right over—oh—and the glow of sudden, teeth-tingling shock and embarrassment blended seamlessly with the glow of sudden, deep, twisting want, and he couldn’t talk, couldn’t say a word. He could feel Blaine hanging, suspended, like he himself was hanging and suspended, only then his hands floated away from his face and slid down, down the slopes of his own shuddering body, skidding on sweat, his fingers twining into Blaine’s hair while his legs spread apart wider and his throat worked, unable to swallow back the words that his hands weren’t there to stop any more.

“Blaine—god—do it. Please.”

Shameless, shameless humping between Blaine’s mouth and fingers, and Blaine was making some soft, obscene noise and shaking, Kurt could feel him shaking, he could feel so much, he could feel everything, he was opening, throbbing, his ass glowing-tender and exquisitely sensitive where Blaine touched it, trembling on the edge of something he felt like he wasn’t even big enough to think about, never mind experience.

Coming was a slow, annihilating process—his cock and his ass, Blaine’s mouth and his fingers, too much to focus on and too much happening at once in too many directions—only then the tips of Blaine’s fingers slipped inside him and suddenly it was all one thing together, and it was like the world exploded, like he locked to Blaine just to have something to hang on to while he rode it out—bucking and squeezing Blaine too hard and there were soft, semi-voiceless cries, and oh, God were those coming from him? He was pretty sure they were. He came until he collapsed back onto the bed, panting and undone, sheened with sweat and unable to stop twitching, unable to stop anything at all.

“Blaine…” hoarse and unfocused, and it was ridiculous that his limbs didn’t even work anymore, that all he did was kind of limply flop when he needed to pull Blaine to him and take him in hand, needed to… needed to…

“No, Kurt—no, I… sorry.” Blaine was still in his jeans—still in his jeans—the front of which had a wet patch Kurt could clearly feel. “That was… uh. Wow.”

Wow. That was one way of putting it. “God.”

“Are you okay?” Blaine sounded shaky, concerned. Which was understandable, given how spectacularly Kurt had just fallen apart.

“The pamphlet people are idiots,” Kurt breathed, and Blaine gave him a puzzled look before Kurt yanked him down into a kiss.

***

He wanted to be very clear. There was no room for ambiguity, for skating around the edges of things; he wanted there to be no opportunity for anything that might not be what he absolutely knew he wanted.

I want you to fuck me. He meant to say it straight out, he meant it to be assertive and maybe a little sultry and very much like the more sexually confident inner Kurt that had started to appear in flashes inside his head—but that guy apparently had some kind of stage fright that made him take a powder right when he was needed—so when Kurt whispered the words into the blushing shell of Blaine’s ear it came out soft and breathy and half-broken.

But effective—if his intended effect had been to galvanize Blaine. He was straddling Blaine’s lap in the back of his car, and despite the weakness of his whisper Blaine gasped, and Kurt could feel every inch of the body under him go hard and tense and unyielding just for a moment, fine tremors running through the muscles of Blaine’s thighs. Blaine made a soft, almost hurt-sounding noise, and the hands cupping his waist suddenly squeezed tight.

“Kurt.” Blaine’s eyes were enormous and so, so dark, tilted up to his. Blaine licked his lips and Kurt felt something warm and powerful uncurl in his stomach, and he wanted to lick them too. “You… you…”

“When we have a chance. I want that.” Like a rush, coming out of him, a sweet spiral of confession that left him surrendered in Blaine’s arms. “Will you?”

One of Blaine’s hands left his waist and slid up the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss, Blaine devouring his mouth like a soft fire. And despite the tightness of his own jeans he could feel Blaine pressed hard up against his ass, a sudden, dizzy awareness of want, a tender and vacant ache, and Blaine rubbed up then he rubbed down and then they were awkwardly rutting against each other, greedy and fumbling and grinding the best they could for now, and he breathed in Blaine’s choked-off, half-frustrated moans and rode his lap until they both came, clinging to each other and shuddering.

***

It was a qualified blessing that they had a few days’ notice about Blaine’s folks going out of town, because it let them make plans, let Kurt make (hopefully entirely non-suspicious) arrangements to be out of the house that night well in advance—arrangements which would be just fine as long as his dad didn’t run in to Hiram or Leroy Berry anywhere. Those things were good.

But the amount of time it gave him to anticipate, and the set timeframe—maybe not so good. On Monday morning before school Blaine told him that his parents were going away on Thursday afternoon and wouldn’t be home until late Friday evening, so there was a quick, anticipatory rush of arrangements and texts and muted-hurried phone calls and then everything was fine—only he was on his way to the cafeteria to meet Blaine for lunch when it suddenly occurred to him that in three days, Blaine was going to fuck him.

Kurt had to edge out of the stream of mindless humanity churning its way through the hall. He found a locker to lean against, abruptly short of breath and feeling like he must be glowing red, wondering if his legs were going to do their job of keeping him upright or if they were just going to wuss out. Excitement and fear—generous portions of both, and oh, he wanted it; he knew he did, he’d asked for it, thought about it, wanted it so much it felt like the wanting might consume him—but God, Blaine was going to fuck him, was going to get inside his body and fuck him and that was just—just…

“You okay?” Blaine had found him—of course Blaine had found him; Blaine had some kind of weird built-in distressed-Kurt signal that brought him on the run any time Kurt so much as stubbed a toe.

“Fine,” Kurt said smoothly, hoisting his bookbag up onto his shoulder with an attempt at nonchalance, because it wasn’t like he could talk about it—not right now, and certainly not with Blaine. “Thought I’d lost the backing to my rose skull brooch—but it’s fine.”

Blaine didn’t look entirely convinced, but Kurt took his hand and plunged them back into the throng heading cafeteria-wards, and nothing more was said about it.

***

Tuesday morning, applying moisturizing toner to a cotton pad and facing himself in the mirror: two days until Blaine fucks you. He dropped the pad and stared at it while he held onto the edge of his vanity, breathing hard, and when he could lift his eyes again he saw that his telltale cheeks were so red it looked like they’d been painted, and it required an effort to pull himself together. Nevertheless, he did it—moistened another pad, and applied the pad to his face and himself to his regimen—because it was soothing, and because there was just no excuse for inadequate pore management. But there wasn’t a toner in the world that could cool the heat blooming in his cheeks.

After that it was random moments that cropped up out of nowhere, and excitement and fear got kind of mixed together—or he lost his ability to tell them apart—but whatever, what it meant was that all of a sudden with no warning he would be hot and flushed and near-swooning, almost aroused but weirdly somehow beyond arousal, aware of each beat of his heart, feeling it and hearing it in his own ears, and it sounded like Blaine’s name—like Blaine was already rushing through him.

A strangely sanctified feeling. Wonderful. And terrible. When he had the time and space to indulge it and lost himself in it, it was like Blaine was mere millimeters away, seconds away—like it was inevitable that the two of them would come together in midair, twining around each other and spinning in each other’s arms, free of gravity or restraint; he could feel himself lying weightless in Blaine’s arms while Blaine took him, while he watched Blaine’s pleasured face when Blaine moved inside him—

“You okay, Kurt?” His dad asked, peering around the tire of the car he had up on the lift. “Your cheeks are all red.”

“I had super-spicy tacos for lunch,” Kurt said with numb lips, and hid himself behind his French textbook.

***

By Thursday he was languid, floating, untethered from reality. He opened his eyes and prepared for the day with a dreamy, absentminded focus, only vaguely alarmed when he realized that the hours were now rushing past him, blurring past—just a quick flash of time between the ‘click’ of his overnight case closing to the ‘whoosh’ of the front doors of McKinley opening, just one more spinning blur between that moment and the end of the day—to the moment when Blaine was waiting for him next to those same doors, waiting for him and smiling shyly, holding out his hand.

“Ready?” Blaine asked him, a simple and softly-worded question but the weight of it was there, the weight of it brought everything thudding solidly home into reality, into the present moment with such overwhelming force that it almost took Kurt’s breath away.

“Yes,” he answered, gasping a little, but Blaine’s hand was firmly and solidly in his, and that was enough to carry him out the doors and into whatever was waiting for him.

***

He wasn’t alone—Blaine felt it too, Kurt could tell; Blaine was flushed and hushed and quiet, solemn in the face of… of everything. He was so handsome, so handsome and so essentially good, so very sweet, and sometimes Kurt could find that sweetness incomprehensible or inconvenient or even irritating—but not now, now it was his shelter and his anchor, that he could let himself do this because he was doing it with Blaine; with Blaine, who loved him more than anything; with Blaine, who would rather die than hurt him.

“We don’t have to…” the making-out was going hot and heavy, and Blaine was sexily messy in the rumpled field of his bed, devastating with his shirt half-undone and his erection visibly straining in his jeans, with his pupils dilated and his lips swollen and his hair all over the place. “Just… Kurt, you have to know, we don’t have to—”

“I want you.” And that much at least came straight from that sexually-sophisticated inner Kurt he’d been looking for before—the words came out smooth and confident and just a little teasing, words that he saw hit home in Blaine’s eyes, and when he slipped both arms around Blaine’s neck, Blaine shuddered like a racehorse.

It was addictive, holding on to Blaine while Blaine worshipped his body, kissing and kissing while Blaine touched every inch of him. Kurt melted and blossomed under his hands: he felt full, so brimming-full, and yet the ache of emptiness where he needed Blaine to be was there, sparked and growing slowly, consuming him by inches.

He watched Blaine’s face when Blaine’s fingers slid into him, watched carefully, and it was like a whole world unfolding there, such a silent revelation coming to him through Blaine’s drawn-down eyebrows. “What does it feel like?”

“Hot. Uh… sss—so smooth. Slippery. Tight.” Blaine seemed to be having a hard time talking. Kurt could relate. Blaine licked his lips and blinked. “What… what’s it like for, for you?”

“Feels good.” That was true. But inadequate. “It’s amazing.” That was closer, just a husked whisper, but whispers were loud enough for just the two of them in this hushed space. “It’s… uh… could you… maybe go deeper?”

Their lips were barely an inch apart, both their mouths open because they were both breathing heavily. Blaine’s wrist flexed and Kurt gasped sharply and Blaine gasped a second after him, but Kurt lifted up into it and Blaine didn’t pull back, but stayed—two fingers deep inside, stroking so slowly, stretching so slowly, and that’s when Kurt started moaning just a little, and found he couldn’t stop.

That was the first step, the first real twist of deep and terrifying heat through his balls, the first moment where his body shoved his brain aside, and got about the business of getting what it wanted, what it needed. He felt Blaine shaking in his arms but it seemed so far away, nothing to do with him, only really impinging on his consciousness when Blaine went up to three fingers and got his free arm under Kurt’s shoulders, and kept gasping while Kurt kept moaning—and Blaine was shaking, he was shaking so hard—

“Blaine. Okay?”

“You’re so hot,” it was just a rushed curl of a breathless whisper. “So hot inside—Kurt I want you so bad, I want you so much you don’t even know—”

Everything got a little blurry then, because he and Blaine were both trying to manhandle Blaine into a condom at the same time, and there was lube everywhere and his body was pulsing and aching and he needed and Blaine’s hands just would not stop shaking, hot on his skin, on his hips when Kurt was on top, but then he rolled because that’s what he needed, stretching out underneath Blaine’s body. “Like this, okay?”

A nod into a kiss and Blaine was close and shaking, heavy and musky and he had actual stubble, just a little but that scratch against his cheek made Kurt unfold and pull Blaine close, his legs falling open while Blaine’s cock touched him, slid from the slippery crevice next to his balls straight on down—down and in, in just like that, at least half of him, inside without even really pushing, and Kurt gasped because fuck he was so full, so fucking full, throbbing with his heartbeat, which was pounding at a gallop.

Blaine groaned. Kurt pulled. Blaine slid forward. Kurt grabbed his shoulders and pumped his hips hard twice, three times and then came in the slick and sweaty mess between their stomachs, crying out sharply and then twitching, rocking his way down into the bed, slow and easy with his eyes fluttering half-closed.

“Did you just… oh my God—” Blaine’s voice was so hoarse he was barely audible.

“Don’t stop,” Kurt managed, stretching out to make room for the pleasure in him, trying to accommodate it. “Go slow at first but don’t stop—Jesus, Blaine you feel so good—”

Blaine’s response might have been either a laugh or a sob, it was impossible to tell, but he held Kurt close and fucked him and kissed him, so it didn’t really matter. Kurt had the time and space now to appreciate the warmth and strength of Blaine’s arms around him, the power in his hips, the sweet, muscular curve of his ass—weirdly defenseless and innocent as well as sexy—all of him. He stretched out and let his body speak to Blaine’s, let himself soak up the pleasure of being fucked until he felt drunk on it, clinging to Blaine’s neck and lifting up into his thrusts and letting whatever sounds wanted to come out of his throat go free, reveling.

“Kurt—” Blaine’s face was drawn as if with pain, and he was shaking harder than ever, and somehow despite everything Kurt could feel fear in him—fear of what, he didn’t know—but definitely a palpable frisson of fear sliding across his nerve endings. So he cupped Blaine’s face and kissed him, and told him it was okay, that it was good, that he could let go. Blaine fought him, but it was a losing battle—he was on the edge and on the edge and then Kurt drew him right over it through the simple expedient of coming himself, clamping down on Blaine’s hips and riding his cock hard from underneath with his head pressed back into the pillows and his open mouth moaning—and Blaine slammed into him, sobbing, pulsing in him and coming and holding so tight to him that Kurt almost couldn’t breathe.

***

“What were you afraid of?”

To his credit, Blaine didn’t avoid the question. His face was shining and open, even in the dim light, only centimeters away on their shared pillow. “I never felt that much before,” Blaine said quietly, his lashes down as he looked at Kurt’s mouth, lingering there before they came back up and he met Kurt’s gaze. “I never really expected to.”

“But you’re okay? Now, I mean?” Kurt reached out and brushed a gelled curl back from Blaine’s forehead.

“I’m okay. Terribly in love with you. But… yes, okay.”

Blaine said it lightly, light enough that it could have been brushed aside as a joke—but it wasn’t; it wasn’t. Not at all. Kurt bit his lip a little, and breathed, and thought about how sometimes the concept of staying safely and stolidly inside a ‘safe zone’ just… didn’t really work out.

Kurt closed his eyes and snuggled closer, pressing until Blaine’s arms came around him. “Kiss me.”

Blaine did. Kurt felt Blaine’s love like sunlight on his skin in winter. He stretched into it, languorous and loving and loved, and kissed his beautiful boyfriend for all he was worth.

End

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Endnotes: this story came out of a desire to play with a few dynamics within two different characterization shifts. Firstly, Kurt’s development from baby-penguin!Kurt to the sultry and confident sexbeast he eventually became. And secondly, it is my own personal belief and headcanon that Blaine’s love for Kurt grew way past the boundaries of where he expected it to go. I was interested to see if I could pull some elements of both those things, and shove them together with the idea that sometimes when we set some nice rules and boundaries for ourselves, we really don’t know what the fuck we’re doing. Thank you so much for joining me for this experiment—thank you so much for reading.
> 
> This little pornlet is a belated birthday gift for Whisperyvoices, who is just packed full of awesomeness. HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY, WHISPERYVOICES—I LOVE YOU SO!!!


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